Entertaining an Idiot
by warrior of the nile
Summary: pt 3 of Guarding an Idiot series- AU Sherlock is bored. He is also under the impression that since John is his guarding angel, it is his job to entertain him. John has a different opinion about that. Fluff included.


"John I'm bored." Sherlock whines- _although heaven forbid you dare suggest such a thing out loud_- for the fifth time in the last ten minutes.

"That's nice dear." John says. For the fifth time.

"Entertain me." He demands.

"Mmmhmm." John continues to dismiss him, focusing again on his book.

"Joooohhhnnnnn. Stop ignoring me! It's your job to entertain me."  
"No, it's my job as your angel to protect you and as your partner to support you. That does not translate to being your personal jester."

"My brain is rotting. I can feel it. You need to protect it from rotting."

_I thought he would get easier to handle after he knew I was an angel why?_ "Somehow I doubt that."

"It's been a week John. I need stimulation before I become a useless puddle of mush."

"Has anyone tell you what a whiny bastard you can be?" He inquires innocently.

"Humph."

That shuts him up for about five minutes.

"Let me see your wings." Sherlock demands.

John merely raises an eyebrow at the commanding tone. _Ah, I was wondering when he was going to ask. It took two weeks, I'm impressed._ "What's the magic word?" He asks in a tone that he knows infuriates Sherlock.

Sherlock sighs in a very put upon manner. "Please John, may I examine your wings?"

John smirks. "Yes Sherlock, you may."

"Thank you." The tone clearly conveys that it is Sherlock who is doing John a favor and not the other way around.

_Bloody git. _He sets his book down and slowly unbuttons his top. He tries to keep the nervousness he suddenly feels from his movements. It's not that minds that Sherlock wants to look at them or that he has any reason to be timid about them... but... _But they're such an important part of who I am. Letting anyone examine is such an intimate thing. Letting Sherlock examine them- even more so. He's so intense when he wants to be._

_And to have all of his attention focused solely on me... _A shiver runs through him. _Bloody hell, this is going to be interesting._

John shrugs off his shirt and calls his wings into being. And almost upsets the coffee table in the process. _Right, no intangibility right now._

He moves to the center of the room and stretches them. It has been... well he hasn't actually let his wings out since he became human all those months ago. So it feels good to be able to do so without fear of Sherlock finding his flatmate has massive wings coming out of his back.

Speaking of Sherlock.

The detective is slowly circling him, looking at them at every possible angle. His wings give a twitch of self-consciousness. No one has ever taken interest in them like Sherlock. Actually no one has ever taken interest in _him_ like Sherlock.

The job of a guardian angel tends to be a solitary one. They are usually too busy watching their wards to have time to seek others out- even if they wanted to. Generally it's enough to just be around their ward. Not to say they are completely anti-social. There were the angels of their ward's friends to talk to. Steady friendships have even evolved between the angels of two best friends. The same thing with married couples. And twins, if they get along, are practically inseparable.

But Sherlock has always generally been alone. And the angel of his last boyfriend was a bit of an arse. And don't even ask him about Sebastian's. The closest he ever came was Mycroft's angel. But she tended to be just as anti-social as John ever was.

So on a whole, Sherlock is the first person to ever really pay him any serious attention. It is a heady feeling. Emotions clash inside of him- joy, nervousness, shyness and, over it all, love.

Sherlock notices of course. "Relax." He instructs and then does the exact opposite to help John obey. He touched his wing. It is a light touch, barely even there. But it sends a shiver down John's spine.

His next touch is more solid, starting at the base and sliding a hand down to the very tip. "Magnificent." He breathes. Repeating the act, a stronger shiver runs through John's body.

_Bloody hell._

"Alright?" Sherlock asks, voice unusually gentle.

"Yeah, it's just..." John takes a needed breath. "Our wings...to simplify it, are attached to our soul. So when you touch them..." He trails off as Sherlock touches one again.

The look in Sherlock's eyes as he looks at John is pure awe. "John." His movement along them has become something very close to reverent.

John closes his eyes and lets the feeling wash over him. This is a side Sherlock lets very few people see. In fact, he doesn't think anyone had ever gone this far past Sherlock's walls. The closest was probably Lestrade when he helped the detective off of cocaine six years ago. And that was only because Sherlock was too miserable in the beginning to keep his mask in place. Suddenly John knows just how Sherlock is feeling.

He hums in pleasure as Sherlock begins to run his fingers through the individual feathers.

"They're closest to a bird of prey wings, but there's subtle differences besides just the size. The texture is smoother and they appear to be stronger. How fast can you fly?"

_Hell, he expects he to think right now? Bloody bastard. _"Err... I don't know, I've never tested them."

"What about weight?"

"Same thing. The heaviest thing I've ever had to handle was you when you fell out of that damn tree when you were seven."

"I broke my arm." Sherlock reminds him drily.

"You would have broken your neck!" John replies indignantly. "And the cast slowed you down for a week. I enjoyed the rest."

Sherlock crosses his arms, looking extremely put out.

"Sherlock, do you realize how much trouble you get into? How much trouble you _always_ got into, ever since you could walk?"

Sherlock pauses, thinking back. "Point." He admits before going back to running his fingers through John's wings. "So you never experimented?"

"No."

"What's the point of having them if you never test what they can do?"

John fixes him with a Sherlockian stare that plainly says 'How dare you ask me such question. Are you really that stupid?'

"I am not a constant trouble 24/7. You could have found time."

John shrugs. "I could have, if I wanted to. But I was never really interested. As long as I could protect you, it was enough." Sherlock opens his mouth to retort. "Also," he continues "most of us don't have an insane curiosity that needs to be satisfied very five minutes."

Sherlock rolls his eyes, but doesn't deny it.

Watching his ward, John gets an idea. _Insane curiosity, no. Insane ideas? Oh yes, those I have plenty of._ A mischievous smile forms on his face.

"John?"

John wraps his arms around Sherlock's waist and launches them into the air. Sherlock lets out a sound that most definitely _not_ a squeak. They fly through the window without problem and John takes them higher to get a good view.

Sherlock is clinging to him, legs wrapped around waist and arms around neck, looking at him with wide eyes.

"Experiment." John says with the same smile only growing on his face.

Sherlock blinks and then echoes John's smile. Loosening his arms, he looks down over his city. As John makes a sharp turn to avoid a flock a birds, Sherlock lets out a laugh of pure delight.

John knows his smile has softened considerably watching him. Sherlock could be a pain in the arse at times, but he is a truly remarkable person. So many people do him a disservice by not trying to get past his masks. Of course those same people are the reason Sherlock has those masks to begin with.

John banks abruptly before making a large loop. Sherlock tightens his arms, but doesn't lose any of his joy. In fact, this increases it, making his whoop. John laughs in delight and does it again.

After several more 'experiments' John heads towards Big Ben. He lands gently and Sherlock stands beside him. But he doesn't move in arms and leans into John contently, if a bit awkwardly since he is taller.

"No pixie dust required."

Sherlock looks at him, hair wind blown, eyes still wide- _He looks like a mad scientist who's creation just came to life_- and rolls his eyes.  
"What? I know you get the reference. It was your favorite book as a kid."

Sherlock doesn't say anything, just kisses his forehead before resting his head on top of John's.

Later, when they are back a Baker Street, both on the couch with John's wings covering them, Sherlock continues to run a hand down his wings. "Thank you." He mummer quietly.

John smiles. "Anytime."


End file.
